Say It Isn't Toso
by zookitty
Summary: Tag for Dead In the Water. Sam, how much do you remember about our trip to Toso? Wee!chester flashbacks and whump


**Gibbers: **To make up for the several tags I missed my next several shall be extra long! Starting with this one! AND Sammy whump to boot! I hope you enjoy!

Betaed by the lovely Moogs and some Whump for the awesome Lisa!

* * *

Dean grabbed his brother's wrist with one hand and forearm with the other. "Ready?" Sam didn't reply just snorted and looked away. He pulled hard and felt the pop of his brother's arm. Dean cringed in sympathy. That job never got easier. Of course Dean could imagine worse ways of dislocating a shoulder than pulling a naked woman out of a bathtub.

After the initial cry of pain Sam just groaned, walking over to the bed and dropping on it.

Dean understood the sentiment.

They were tired, waterlogged and for some reason still cold. It had been hours since they left the Lake Manitoc—and all its cursed glory—behind, and still neither Winchester could stop shivering.

"I bet we'll catch colds," Sam had muttered when he turned the Impala's heat up several hours before. Really it would just be their luck.

Dean leaned back on the lumpy motel bed and stared at the wall. "Sam, do you remember our trip to Lake Hobo?"

"Toso?" Sam offered, half asleep and _still_ correcting Dean. "Not much really."

Dean hummed in reply. It really didn't make a difference—he remembered it well enough for both of them.

**_14 years prior…_**

****It was their third transfer that year. Dean didn't mind changing schools, being the new kid every other month gave him an edge. He could friggin be someone entirely different every time if he wanted to. Not that he ever did. Dean was Dean, and he wanted all the ladies to enjoy that—no matter what school.

Sam didn't share his enjoyment—of change or of girls really. It was continually shocking that the kid would much rather curl up with a book then a female. Amazing.

Dean headed down the concrete stairs of the latest drop in education and turned toward Sammy's elementary school. Things had been harder that year, being the first time they were separate since Sam started school and they wouldn't be in the same school again till high school. Not that Dean missed the kid.

Much.

"Dean!" It was not Sammy's high pitched beckoning, but there weren't often a lot of Dean's around so he turned. A mop head third grader with uneven baby blue eyes came running up panting—from a simple run. Kids these days.

It took a moment but Dean remembered him. Almost. It was one of Sammy's new friends. W…W something. He put on a friendly grin. "Hey there…buddy."

"Dean. Dean! Sam went. I told him not to. I told him but he went!"

Dean blinked, trying to decipher the rambles. Whatever the kid was saying, he didn't like it. "Sam went where?"

"The lake."

The older Winchester remembered passing a lake on his way into town. It was large and more than a little tempting, but it wasn't threatening. The source of their staying in Toso was a house, not a lake.

W-kid seemed to realize he was losing Dean's concern so he straightened up and glared into the older boy's eyes. "He went with Ryan."

A cold blanket of anger settled over Dean at that name. Two weeks they'd been there and Ryan had already made himself their problem more than once. He was a fifth grader who lived by the motto, 'it's better to be feared than loved'.

Dean took off toward the woods. Only his hunter instinct told him that W followed. He didn't stop to wait.

He was near the lake. His inner compass was broadcasting that loud and clear. Then he heard the splash.

Dean broke out of the woods to the sound of harsh laughter. Ryan was on the edge of the water, another boy at his side. He couldn't see his brother.

Dean's fist connected with Ryan's jaw about a split second before his leg slammed into the other boy's gut. Neither were exactly going to be winning any prize fights and they both fell roughly to the ground.

Another splash and Dean's eyes went to the lake. Sam resurfaced looking shocked and hurt. Dean grabbed his arm and pulled him out of the water.

"D-Dean," the younger stuttered, lip quivering.

Dean had halfway dragged the kid back to the woods when he heard the quiet, "He said he just wanted to be friends." Dean barely registered his brother's words before he turned around and decked Ryan again.

That night when John heard a version of the story—between sneezes—from his congested eight year old, he didn't even seem disappointed. He just shook his head. "You're blind faith never fails to astound me, Sammy." And that was all he said about it.

And Dean never asked why Ryan didn't come back to school.

**_Present…_**

****"Hey Dean…what happened to that Ryan kid?" Sam said abruptly. Apparently he remembered it better than he let on. Dean smirked.

"Go to sleep, Sammy. Long drive to Texas tomorrow."

"Hey Dean." Sam lifted himself up onto his elbow. Dean glanced over at him and nodded.

Because if there was one thing John Winchester had taught his boys it was this: if the gratitude isn't spoken, then it isn't a chick flick moment.

Dean flicked off the light and fell away from thoughts of lakes and spirits, into sleep.


End file.
